


half, yet whole

by thirdwish



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: F/F, High School Reunion, One Shot, all that... barely repressed longing, ft. paul and ellie's pure friendship, hope everyone is staying safe in quarantine!, leah alexxis daniel wolfgang I am free on thursday night, this movie???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24014017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdwish/pseuds/thirdwish
Summary: “She’s back, you know, for the summer. She’ll probably be there.”He doesn’t say who, but he doesn’t need to.Ellie thinks back to the last time she’d seen Aster Flores. How she’d held her face in her hands; pressed her lips to hers; made a promise she might now be too scared to keep.
Relationships: Ellie Chu & Aster Flores, Ellie Chu/Aster Flores
Comments: 58
Kudos: 833





	half, yet whole

**Author's Note:**

> letter to alice wu: from a scared, confused, little asian girl who didn’t understand what she was feeling and wanted nothing more than to hide away the secret half of herself for ages – thank you. please don’t make us wait another 16 years for the next one?

_I am the man: if it be so, as ’tis,_

_Poor lady, she were better love a dream._

_Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness–_

Shakespeare’s prose is punctured by the loud blare of a train horn.

19-year-old Ellie Chu slams her hardcover copy of Twelfth Night shut and shoves it into her rucksack. She doesn’t have to wait for the operator’s announcement; she’d recognize the crunch of railroad ballast anywhere, the ringing of the crossing bell… sounds she’d grown accustomed to hearing all her life. Sounds she hasn’t heard in two years.

She immediately sits up straight and peers out of the dingy window, breaking into a wide grin as she sees two familiar figures come into view. The locomotive chugs along in the cool evening breeze, pulling slowly into Squahamish station. She heaves her rucksack onto her back, runs toward the exit and leaps down, skipping the last two steps.

“Ellieee!” Paul Munsky drops the signal flags and sprints towards her, apron flapping in the wind. He envelops her in a huge hug.

“I’ve missed you,” she exclaims, letting him pluck the bag off her shoulders with ease, “sorry for making you guys wait long, there was a delay at one of the earlier stations.”

“We didn’t wait long at all.” Her father approaches, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“What?” Paul balks at the blatant lie. “We waited outside for an hour.”

Mr Chu shakes his head. “Not long to me. Very happy to see you, _hai zi_.”

“Good to see you too, _ba_ ,” Ellie looks at him, impressed. “Wow, your English has really improved.”

Her father smiles with pride, gesturing towards Paul. “We’ve been having, ah, conversation practice.”

Paul nods affirmatively. “Your dad’s amazing at ping pong.” He yanks off his apron and turns to toss it into the back of his truck. That’s when Ellie sees it.

“Holy.”

“I know, right?” Paul puffs his chest out in satisfaction at her appropriately awed reaction. “Didn’t mention it in our texts ‘cause I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Behind him is a gigantic, brightly coloured food truck, a much larger upgrade than his old one, with the words ‘Munsky Sausage’ splashed across the side. Below it, in smaller font: ‘Try the taco sausage! Two hand foods, one great taste!’

“Taco sausage all the rage now, huh?” Ellie marvels at the vehicle, running her hands over the glossy paint job. “Dude, talk about a dream come true, that’s incredible!”

“Dang right it is,” Paul beams. “Ma gets to keep the shop with Nana’s original recipe, while I experiment with the food truck.” He points at the top of the menu. “Braised pork is doing really well.” At Ellie’s raised eyebrows, he continues, “Surprising for this place, I know. Five-spice powder is seasoning unlike anything they’ve ever tasted.”

“The response in other towns is great too. Been expanding. Remember how much we wanted to leave Squahamish?” Paul says, wistfully, “The truck is my way of getting out once in a while. Change of scenery is nice.”

He swings the front door open and hops inside, still talking. “You know, I’m thinking of taking the family on a road trip across states – we’ll bring your dad too, if he’s up for it – he’s been over for dinner a couple times, getting used to the chaos that is my family… oh, did I mention my sister’s getting married? That’s gonna be an event.”

He stops to take a breath. “Sorry, there’s just so much to catch you up on. I’ll tell you more at the reunion.”

Ellie stares at the transformation in wonder, somewhat speechless. Two years ago, this boy could barely bring himself to string together a coherent sentence. “That’s amazing Paul, I really mean it. But uh, about the reunion…”

“You _are_ coming, right?” Paul asks, brows furrowed. “No one will make that dumb joke about your name again; I’ve made sure of that.” He pauses. Regards Ellie with a knowing expression. “But that’s not what you’re worried about.”

Ellie looks down at her Converse sneakers, dragging it over a bit of gravel. The unasked question hangs in the air.

“She’s back, you know, for the summer. She’ll probably be there.”

He doesn’t say who, but he doesn’t need to.

Ellie thinks back to the last time she’d seen Aster Flores. How she’d held her face in her hands; pressed her lips to hers; made a promise she might now be too scared to keep.

“Okay, you’re definitely coming.” Paul declares with determination, breaking Ellie out of her reverie. He reaches over and nudges the passenger door open. “Let’s go, we’re already late.”

***

They pull into the parking lot of their old high school. Paul turns the keys in the ignition and switches off the engine. He turns to her. “Ready?”

Ellie takes a deep breath. “Hold on.” She tugs her hair out of her neat ponytail, shakes it loose, slips the band onto her left wrist. “Okay, ready.”

Paul chuckles, leaning over to tussle her hair a little, then jumps out of the truck. Ellie follows, taking in the picnic tables and benches set up across the field. A group of people are laughing and chatting, red Solo plastic cups in hand. Above them, a banner – evidently a used one from a previous event, but someone had helpfully crossed out the year – unfurls to display, ‘SQUAHAMISH HIGH XXXX REUNION’ in block letters.

“Munsky, there you are! What took you so long, we’re starving!” Trig Carson’s distinct drawl rings through the air. “Bring on the sausages!”

When he sees Ellie, he grins broadly, dimples appearing on his smug, chiselled face. “Yo, it’s the Chinese girl! What’s kicking, Chu? Looking great.”

“Take the food, man,” Paul mutters exasperatedly, pushing the stack of trays into the boy’s arms and leading her away.

“Same old Trig?” Ellie asks, pouring herself a drink from the one of the tables.

Paul grabs one too. “Yup, same old. Took some time to get over the failed proposal, but he’s fine now. Dating someone new… besides, he’s about to take over Carson Gravel from his dad.” He takes a swig of alcohol and makes a face. “Shame they don’t have any Yakult. Anyway, still the richest guy in Squahamish and all that.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. How’s Mrs. G?”

“Happily retired. Said she couldn’t take reading bad philosophy essays much longer.”

Ellie laughs but it dies in her throat when she scans the field and inadvertently catches sight of a familiar cascade of wavy dark brown hair. It’s Aster, in conversation with Claire Cella, one of the pretty blonde girls from English whom she never spoken more than five sentences with, but had written countless essays for.

Paul follows her gaze. “Ah, I gotcha.” He shoots Ellie a purposeful wink, then cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Claire! Come over and try this new recipe I’ve been working on!”

Aster’s head lifts at the sound. When their eyes meet, Ellie watches her lips quirk up into a smile. The same smile she had come to fall in love with from the corner of the room every Sunday service.

Ellie stays rooted to the spot as Aster gets up from her seat and walks over. If her life was a movie, this scene would probably play out in slow motion.

“Hey, heathen.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“So, Grinnell–” “So, CalArts–” they both start at the same time.

“You go first,” Aster says.

“Um,” Ellie stumbles, “California sun is treating you well.”

It’s true; Aster was glowing (more radiantly than usual) with a healthy tan, giving her skin a gentle hue that, in Ellie’s opinion, _really_ brings out the colour of her–

“Iowa has been good to you, too.” Aster’s eyes travel from Ellie’s face to take in the rest of her figure. “I like your hair like that.” The scrutiny makes Ellie’s face burn a little; she hopes the evening shadows are enough to hide it.

“Some things stay the same though.” Aster tilts her head, observes thoughtfully.

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, self-conscious. “Er, like what?”

“Like, you only ever cuff one side of your jeans.” Aster regards her with an expression that looks almost… fond? Affectionate?

Before she can process the fact that her crush had somehow paid enough attention to her throughout the years in order to perceive her fashion choices, Aster is speaking again. “So, did you find someone else to talk Kazuo Ishiguro novels with?”

Her tone of voice is nonchalant, uncertainty betrayed only by the way she crosses her arms over her chest, as if to protect her heart. Ellie opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by a loud whoop.

“Beer pong, EVERYONE!” Joey bellows, “Gather round, let’s see what the pride of Squahamish can do!” A bunch of guys clap Paul on the back uproariously, while the rest begin herding partygoers towards a table in the centre where Trig is filling cups from a keg with frightening speed.

Paul shoots Ellie a reluctant look as someone hands him a ball and the former Squahamish Moose football team erupts into cheers.

***

That night, Ellie lies in her childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly, her phone vibrates, almost falling off the stand. She catches it and squints at the lit screen blearily. An old chat resurfaces with a quick succession of _dings_.

_DiegaRivero: meet me outside your place tomorrow around 10?_

_wear something you won’t mind getting wet in ;)_

_DiegaRivero: I mean_

_DiegaRivero: wet as in water_

_DiegaRivero: ..…see you tomorrow_

***

“ _Ba_ , I’m going out today, okay?” Ellie bounds down the attic stairs, hauling a sweater over her shirt.

Mr Chu emerges from the kitchen. “I figured. Is that your friend?” He jerks his head towards the window. “She’s been pacing outside since 9.30.”

“Wha–” Ellie gapes, peering out. Sure enough, Aster Flores is leaning against her yellow car, parked next to the station booth. Hands tucked snugly into the pockets of her denim jacket, periwinkle blue dress adorned with little floral patterns fluttering in the breeze. “Shoot!”

Ellie doesn’t know what she looks like when she comes running out of the house, loose hair flying behind her, a piece of toast shoved into her mouth, but from the way Aster is stifling a laugh, it can’t be very dignified.

“Slow down, heathen, you’re not late.”

The morning sun peeks through the clouds, spilling its rays onto her, outlining her figure in an ethereal light. As always, her brilliance is blinding. Ellie swallows sheepishly. She can’t help but think that if God does exist, He must have His favourites.

“C’mon, then,” Aster pushes off the hood of her car and turns to open the door, “sorry about the mess, I’ve still got a bunch of art supplies in here.”

Ellie fumbles with the handle, nearly knocking over a jar of brushes as she settles into the seat. “Painting a lot, these days?”

“Whenever inspiration hits.”

They reverse out of the depot and onto the street. Aster cranks up the radio. She seems casual enough, but the cogs in Ellie’s brain are whirring, sending her into Overthinking Mode. _Should she bring up what happened two years ago? Ask her if she’s sure now?_

She sneaks a glance at Aster in the rear-view mirror, who calmly navigates a bumpy patch. _Nah, now’s not the time. What if she says no? Why ruin a good day?_

The car trundles down a dirt road lined with trees on both sides. Ellie rests her chin on her folded arms and looks out of the rolled-down window, watching Squahamish recede in the distance.

_Does she even remember? Of course she does. Running down the street, kissing someone and declaring, ‘I’ll see you in a couple years’ has got to be pretty unforgettable, right?_

Desperate to stop her inner monologue, Ellie picks up a sketchbook from the pile lying on top of the dashboard. “Can I look through this?”

“Sure,” Aster hums, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “That one’s kinda old though, it’s mostly stuff I did back in high sch-” A few seconds later, she freezes. “Wait, no!”

“Huh?” Ellie jolts at the sudden outburst, hands stilled mid-flip. The sketchbook falls open onto her lap, and she finds herself staring down at a watercolour portrait of… herself. Signature ponytail, round glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, hands gliding over a wooden piano.

Ellie gawks at the picture. Light pink dusts across Aster’s cheeks; she stares straight ahead, chewing on her bottom lip the way she always does when she’s flustered.

“I drew that the day after you left for college,” she says so quietly, Ellie almost has to strain to hear her. “Never owned a photo of you, so… well. I wanted something to remember you by.”

Ellie reels from the revelation. There is silence in the car for a few minutes.

“I thought you were more into abstract art?” Ellie teases, finally, “maybe you should consider branching out.”

The tension breaks.

“Shut up,” Aster mumbles, but her face relaxes into a shy smile. “That’s not the one I wanted to give you.” She reaches into the glove compartment and retrieves another painting, hands it to Ellie.

It’s a re-drawing of the mural that they had spray painted onto the abandoned wall behind Al’s burger joint years ago. A woman, reaching for a star.

“I– it’s stunning,” Ellie manages to say, “very bold strokes.”

Aster laughs (Ellie thinks it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard). “Al almost caught me, you know. Imagine if my dad found out about the graffiti.”

“As if you didn’t enjoy your little act of rebellion.”

“I did,” Aster relents, “you’re a bad influence, Ellie Chu. I’m always doing things I’m not supposed to around you.”

Ellie is still trying to think of a response to that as the car slows to a halt at the side of a deserted mountain track. Aster gets out and starts down a trail, with Ellie following closely behind.

At the end of the path, they push aside some shrubs to reveal a natural hot spring, surrounded by lush greenery. A billow of steam rises from the water, cloaking both of them in a dream-like fog. Ellie inhales. It’s just as pristine as she remembers.

“Your favourite secret place might just be my favourite secret place too.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” Aster tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, sounds almost hesitant when she admits, “You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here.”

Again (and shamefully so, for an aspiring writer), Ellie finds herself at a loss for words.

Aster walks over to the brink of the swimming hole and unzips her dress, letting it fall to her ankles. Ellie gulps and spins around, averting her gaze in a panic. She focuses on a cluster of branches; the leaves sway from side to side, almost as if mocking her.

“Those _are_ deciduous trees, by the way,” Aster pipes up, an amused lilt to her voice, “I looked it up.”

She closes her eyes out of consideration and rests her head against a boulder as Ellie attempts to slip gracefully out of her layers of clothing.

“You know, I’ve been taking Mandarin classes.”

Ellie absorbs this information, slightly confounded. _Why? To know more about her culture? No, not everything is about you, idiot. Practically everyone is learning Mandarin these days._ She finally manages to tug off her sweater and slides into the water tentatively.

Aster opens her eyes, suppresses a smile at the fact that Ellie still has her shirt on. “Wanna see what I’ve learned?”

Ellie nods curiously.

“Well, the word for ‘person’ is ‘人’ and it looks like this…” She picks up a stick and traces the word into the ground at the water’s edge. “And the word for ‘crowd’ is ‘众’, which is basically three of those characters stacked together.”

“You’re right. Three’s a crowd,” Ellie says, laughing. “Literally.”

“How’s my pronunciation?”

“Not bad, actually...”

“Teach me something else.”

“Okay, how ‘bout this–” Ellie takes the stick from her, trying to ignore the electricity that surges through her veins when their fingers touch. “‘半’ means ‘half’.”

“And if you just add another two strokes at the side,” Ellie scratches these into the ground with a flourish, “you get ‘伴’. Which means companion. Partner.”

“Like…your other half!” Aster proclaims excitedly. “A soulmate…” She sighs and leans backwards into a lazy backstroke, sending ripples through the pool. “That is so cool.”

Streaks of sunbeam filter between the foliage through the forest canopy, reflecting the water surface, bouncing off her silver necklace. Ellie watches, transfixed, as Aster dips her head down under and emerges, skin glistening. She slicks her hair back, then turns to Ellie who is still lingering near the shallow end. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You do know that if you don’t get over here, I’m gonna physically make you?”

Ellie gulps nervously and begins treading water to get closer to the centre. “Art school is going well then, I suppose?” she rambles, because Aster is looking at her with an intensity that wipes all coherent thought from her mind.

“Yeah, being in completely new place, it’s different… in a good way, I guess.” Aster seems contemplative. “Made me revaluate almost everything about myself.” She draws water into her palms, watching it slip through her fingers. “I’d always accepted certain things that defined me here. Preacher’s daughter, Trig Carson’s girlfriend…”

“But away from my parents, the church, the people I grew up with, everyone who knows a specific version of me… away from all of that, who am I?” She shakes her head. “One day, someone on campus asked my name – they were giving out a flyer for a gym membership or something – and it hit me. That I could be anyone I wanted, start fresh, make up a whole new identity–”

Aster stops, bites her lip, looks down at her hands. “I sound crazy, right?”

“No, you don’t.” Ellie knows exactly what she means. She’d spent the last two years searching for her own answers, after all. “The first day I arrived at Grinnell, I– I’d never felt so free. Free to be me, and yet…” She tilts her head to the sky. “It’s like being a bird set free after living its whole life in a cage. Where would it go? Freedom is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.”

A beat of unspoken understanding passes between them.

Aster exhales, letting out a breath she’d been holding. “Sartre was right. We _are_ condemned to be free.” She runs a hand through her wet hair. “He’d add that we’ve _been_ free this whole time, just held back by the fear of consequences.”

“You know what else Sartre would say?” Ellie muses, “Whoever you choose to be, that’s _you_. There is no right answer; at the end of the day, your choice – no matter what it is – is the only true choice, because it is determined by the values you have chosen to live by.” She pauses. “So, the only thing left to do is…”

“…to live authentically, accepting the full weight of your freedom.” Aster finishes.

Sometime during their conversation, they had drifted closer to each other such that Ellie was now seeing Aster Flores, _really_ seeing her in high definition. “I missed talking to you,” Aster says, finally. “I missed waking up to your messages and falling asleep reading them.”

“I missed you, uh, your messages too.” The girl in front of her is so close now that Ellie can see the water flecks on her perfect cheekbones. “D-did I ever tell you that you have classic bone structure?” she blurts out.

Aster’s mouth twitches upwards. “You may have mentioned it once.”

Ellie can hear the blood thrumming in her ears. “That’s not all I want to tell you.” She knows she should hold her tongue, but years’ worth of confessions are simmering below the surface, like a volcano waiting to erupt.

Somewhere, the back of her mind registers that her white shirt is almost see-through now, clinging to wet skin. Aster seems to notice this too, as her gaze drops low, then moves slowly, deliberately, back up. Brown eyes so piercing that it makes Ellie feel compelled to spill all her secrets.

So, she does.

“I think… I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. And I don’t mean just your looks, though it should be illegal to be this pretty.” Once Ellie starts talking, it’s as if a dam has broken. “Honestly, I would listen to you talk about Sartre, Camus, Arendt or Socrates all day. I could live in an ocean of your thoughts. Sometimes, when I’m reading a book, I come across a particular sentence or idea, and my first instinct is that I want to send it to you because I want to know what you think about it.”

Aster blinks, but Ellie is on a roll now.

“I love seeing the art that you create. I love how your eyes look right into mine, like right now. I love the way your laugh busts out like you can’t help yourself, the way you move your hands a lot when you’re nervous, little moments that remind me you’re not perfect. All those times we were in that choir room, every time you sang, you made me want to believe in God, or at least, angels.”

Ellie reaches the end of her speech when it feels like all the air has been knocked out of her lungs, and in its place, regret comes rushing in. Aster is still staring at her, slightly slack-jawed.

_Oh no, oh no, damn it. She’d have to disappear from Squahamish forever, or find a way to erase a person’s memory._

An unbearably long moment passes before the other girl seems to come to her senses. An unreadable expression crosses her face. Ellie’s breath hitches as she moves impossibly closer. Beads of water slide off her clavicle.

“Remember when I said I’d be sure in a couple years?”

Ellie gives the barest of nods.

When Aster speaks again, her voice is low, yet too loud for the silence. “Ask me.”

Ellie feels lightheaded all of a sudden. She opens her mouth, struggling to find the words. Aster waits expectantly, looking up at her from under those long lashes.

“… a– are you sure now?”

The proximity is dizzying.

“Yes,” Aster whispers, and closes the distance.

Fireworks explode in Ellie’s brain; she thinks her heart stops for half a second. This is happening, Aster Flores is kissing her, Aster Flores’ hand cupping her jaw, Aster Flores’ arm holding her waist underwater, Aster, Aster, Aster.

When they break apart for air, Aster’s eyes are sparkling in amusement. At Ellie’s dazed expression, she bursts into giggles and tucks her fingers under her chin, guiding it back to her lips again.

“Told you I’d be _so_ sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] “I am the man she wants. If this is true, which it is, then the poor lady would be better off loving a dream. Now I see why it is bad to wear disguises...” – Viola’s monologue in Act 2, Scene 2 of Twelfth Night, upon realizing that Olivia has feelings for her disguised as Cesario
> 
> [2] hái zi; 孩子; translation: child
> 
> [3] bà; 爸; translation: father
> 
> [4] rén; 人; translation: person
> 
> [5] zhòng; 众; translation: crowd
> 
> [6] bàn; 半; translation: half
> 
> [7] bàn; 伴; translation: companion, partner


End file.
